Turn It Off
by AllyStardust
Summary: The world was supposed to end with the saviour striking down the evil queen and breaking the curse. Not like this. Not with a virus that sends over half the population insane. A virus beyond Rumpelstiltskin's usually oh-so-precise control. A virus that will destroy everything he has worked to create. (Super loosely based on Stephen King's 'Cell', post- apocalyptic fic)
1. Chapter 1

Turn It Off (Rumbelle 'Cell' AU)

_The world was supposed to end with the saviour striking down the evil queen and breaking the curse. Not like this. Not with a virus that sent over half the population insane. A virus beyond Rumpelstiltskin's usually oh-so-precise control. A virus far more terrible than magic because it has only one price: the death of everything the residents of Storybrooke have ever known. (Loosely based on Stephen King's 'Cell', post-apocalyptic fic) _

One

When the Dark One woke to silence he knew something was wrong.

Cinderella, known as Ashley in the Queen's little play-pen of a town, always came to clean his house on a Monday morning. She was always there by seven thirty and the clock by his bedside informed him it was already seven thirty five.

Perhaps, he thought as he slid out of a bed he rarely used, she was ill. People were just people in this new realm and sickness could touch even a princess. But he knew Cinderella was a tenacious creature. When she wanted to go to the ball she signed a contract with a stranger to get there and when she needed to work for the most powerful man in town she was there without fault.

Or she had been. But that Monday, when he dressed and descended the stairs, there was no heavily pregnant princess in jeans and a faded shirt scrubbing at the kitchen tiles or dusting the clutter that lined his living room. There was nothing but the ticking of a clock in some far off corner of the house.

"Ashley?" He called out anyway, just to be sure. The Dark One was nothing if not cautious.

But no, Ashley was not there. Which meant that time had begun to change in Storybrooke- something that was not due to happen for another year at least. Time would begin to move- actually move, rather than the pretence the clocks in town ran on- when Emma arrived in town. The saviour, the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming who simply _could not_ be there yet.

Which had to mean something else was going on.

His first instinct was to blame Regina. It came naturally. When he knew he wasn't to blame for a situation- which was rare, Dark One that he was- it was always Regina. Or some idiot making a hash of a deal they had never understood to begin with. But mostly Regina.

Yet somehow that morning even blaming Regina didn't feel right. The air around him felt wrong and Regina wasn't capable of that, not anymore, not in a place without magic. She was an elected official with a chip on her shoulder that he had helped to chisel. She could not do this.

So what had? He thought of calling Regina to demand answers she might well not have, but it seemed her instinct had blamed him just as he had blamed her. She came storming into the front hall of his home clutching her precious skeleton keys, looking less the evil queen and more a simply terrified woman in her usually pristine blouse and skirt. She had mud on her tights and shoes, a smudge of it across her cheek. _That _made him worry. She was always immaculate- in this world and the one before it.

"What have you done?" She pointed a finger at him, voice going for stern but shaking too hard to be threatening.

Had it been any different, the air around him not filled with some great and unspeakable tension, he might have made a quip about storming into his home and greeting him in such a manner. As it was, he merely shrugged.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I was hoping you could tell me why I'm short a certain pregnant housekeeper this morning, actually." The word housekeeper still left a bitter taste on his tongue, still stung that part of him that was the beast as opposed to merely the lame pawnbroker.

"I…" Regina had looked half furious, half terrified when she had stormed in. Now she simply looked terrified. He could count the amount of times he had seen her afraid on one hand. "You honestly don't know what's going on out there?"

If there was one thing he hated, it was not knowing. As both the Dark One and Mr Gold he had endeavoured to know everything, see everything, ensure no dark secret was kept locked up from him. Knowledge was power and even if he had lost everything else he _was_ powerful.

Regina didn't get chance to explain. A girl stumbled through the front door, someone unknown to either Rumpelstiltskin or Mr Gold, her nose obviously broken. Her hair was mousy brown and streaked with substances darker and thicker than blood. She screamed, baring teeth that were nothing more than broken shards, and ran at Regina.

Regina was his enemy. She was the woman who had sucked on a tea spoon as she told him of Belle's death, who had always been so determined to ruin him after he had ruined her, who would no doubt have gladly left him in that prison cell back in the old world if she'd been able to.

But she was also useful for the time being. And besides, if anyone was going to destroy the queen it was to be the saviour. Not some crazy teenager with a bloody mouth. So he stepped forwards and swung up his heavy cane, caught the girl on the temple and knocked her flat on her back. If she was unconscious or dead he didn't know, so he struck her again for good measure.

"Go lock the front door." He muttered to the trembling queen at his side. "I dare say you've got some explaining to do, Madame Mayor."

"It's something bigger than us, Gold. Bigger than the curse. It's not magic and it's impacting on the whole of this world." Regina was in shock. For something to shock the queen, the evil queen at that, it had to be bad. Awful enough to make Regina speak of the curse after twenty seven years of acting the part of elected official. He wasn't sure he wanted to venture out into Storybrooke and see exactly _how _bad.

After all, Mr Gold and Dark One aside, he was still Rumpelstiltskin the spinner. Deep down he was nothing more than an old, lame, coward who had never been brave enough for anyone.

"So what _is _it exactly?" He said, eying the body in his hall. The girl hadn't moved, but he had not dared to relax all the same.

"I don't know. All I know is Sydney Glass ran into my office this morning and tried to sink his teeth into my neck." Regina folded her arms and he saw the bruises, so defined he could practically see the outline of usually mild mannered Sydney's fingers. How had he not noticed them before?

As if to answer his question, a scream echoed from somewhere down the street. His was the only house _on _the street. Not a good sign.

"Well, Sydney always was fond of you." Ignoring the look Regina shot him he limped towards the living room window and peered out. He couldn't _see _any threats as of yet, but by the scream there was obviously something going on nearby.

"You don't understand. People have gone _insane_. And it's not anything to do with the curse. A man was in town delivering food to Granny's diner and he was…Well, not himself to say the least. Not like anybody should be. And he wasn't one of…Well, he wasn't from here."

"How exactly is it you know all this, Mayor?" He wondered why they were referring to themselves as their curse-identities. Perhaps to convince themselves they were still in a world where time didn't tick and they were in a stale-mate of sorts with one another.

"I drove here to see if you were behind all this. But the more I saw, the more I became convinced that it wasn't you. There's no magic here, after all." Regina came to stand beside him and peered out of the window. Her hands were trembling.

He had to wonder what there _was_ here then, to make someone into the thing that had lunged for Regina. If that wasn't some cursed, wicked form of magic then he didn't _want _to know what it was. Magic, at least, he understood well enough. It was unpredictable but familiar. Like having a wild animal as a pet and praying it was fully domesticated- which it never was, of course.

"Well, that would explain why I'm short a princess." He made for the stairs. "Stay here, Madame Mayor, guard the door."

"And where exactly are you going?" There was something of the Regina he knew and resented in that tone of voice, sharp and accusatory.

"I keep a gun upstairs." He answered, which was true. In a world without magic he had needed some way to defend himself if ever he needed to. He was guessing today, he would need to.

"I have to get back to Henry." Regina was pacing by the time he got back downstairs. "I left him with Graham but I don't trust him to keep him alive no matter the cost."

"Remembering how a huntsman failed to obey your orders about a certain runaway, are we?" He was forced to step over the dead girl to reach the door. "But you're right, we should go."

"_We_? What makes you think that you're coming with me?"

He waved the handgun. She didn't argue after that, though he could tell by the way she pressed her lips together and clenched her jaw she wanted to.

Upon first leaving the house it all seemed normal enough. Then, in the distance, came the echo of what was unmistakably cars colliding. The screech of metal on metal. Another scream.

Rumpelstiltskin wondered how he'd managed to sleep through the beginning of the end of the world. It seemed unlike him. But then, the end of the world was an unlikely occasion.

He followed Regina's car in his own, half watching the road and half the chaos unfurling around them. He saw a woman being chased by a man wielding a butcher's knife and looked back to the road just in time to see a car collide with Regina's.

"Shit!" He swerved his own car to the side of the road. Regina's had collided head on with another car, the driver of which was scrambling from the wreckage. A young man with a buzz cut and blood dried into his facial hair. The mad man was running for Regina's car.

He didn't think. He grabbed the gun, threw open the door, aimed and fired. Caught buzz-cut in the side and sent him sprawling onto the tarmac. As he struggled to rise, Rumpelstiltskin fired again. Buzz-cut fell back down and stayed there.

"Regina?" He wasn't sure why he was prying at the door of Regina's car, trying to see if she was alive. It seemed he had decided to learn compassion now the world was over.

Regina had a cut that ran from her forehead down to her cheek. There was dark blood matted around her hairline, but otherwise she seemed unharmed. Of course he knew she had to have injuries that were less visibly obvious, but her eyes were open and she was moving to get out of the car. That was enough for the time being.

"_Rast!" _The voice from behind him was unfamiliar. The word, which sounded less like spoken English and more like a guttural grunt of sound, was accompanied by hands grabbing at his shoulders. He tried to turn, to push the barrel of the gun into whoever was grabbing at him, but the grip on him was like a vice. Whoever was grabbing him was strong- mindlessly strong.

Something wet and warm splattered across his back. He stumbled, felt the body that had been grabbing him slump and he turned to throw them off. Robin Hood complete with a throat that had been cut from ear to ear fell to the ground.

Jefferson was standing over the body of the long-ago-thief brandishing a pair of bloody garden shears with his shirt soaked crimson to the elbows. "You're welcome," he said, waving the shears at him by way of hello.

"I had no idea you were in Storybrooke." Rumpelstiltskin said in reply. Today was a day full of surprises, apparently.

Jefferson shrugged. "I've been laying low. Thought I'd drop by with some interesting information now the world is over and all." They had a strange history, the Dark One and the World Jumper, neither friends nor enemies. He wouldn't exactly call them allies either, bar that one time they had united with a doctor to undo a foolish would-be-queen.

"And what might that be, exactly? I don't think I'm in a position to make deals today." There had been only one other time he had been unable to deal-make. The days after Regina had arrived at his castle, sucking on a tea spoon as she said the words that carved a chasm in his heart.

_She threw herself from the tower. She died. _

"Well," Jefferson pointed the scissors at Regina as she dragged herself out of the car, "Our dear elected official is a little corrupt, which I'm sure comes as a great surprise to us all. In fact, she has a little asylum going on beneath the hospital. A place she keeps those she doesn't want to use on her pretty little chess set yet. People from the old world that might have been, oh I don't know, thought missing or…Or perhaps thought dead."

He felt his stomach twist. No. Jefferson could not be saying that. He could not be suggesting that Regina had Belle locked up somewhere in Storybrooke. Because that would mean countless years back in the old world of her alive but confined to a prison. It meant twenty seven years locked up beneath the hospital, probably not even seeing the light. The thought of his Belle, brave and beautiful little Belle, locked up in the dark somewhere made his blood boil. He wanted to turn back time and _let _buzz-cut finish Regina off.

"Gold," Regina's voice was thick with what he suspected was pain- and he was glad of it, "He's _lying. _He's insane. We need to go, to see what's happening-"

"And why should I believe you, dearie?" He didn't look at Regina. Didn't trust himself to, half-afraid of what he might do. "I'm going to see what it is our friend is talking about. Good luck making it to your home without a car."

"Bu-"

"Goodbye Regina." He began to walk towards his car.

Jefferson mock-saluted Regina with his bloody shears and followed.

The hospital was far worse than he could have imagined. Smoke was rising from the roof, a car had gone through one of the walls and left it to collapse around the metal shell. Bodies littered the side-walk and the steps up into the hospital.

And the knowledge that somewhere in that building was Belle, his lion-hearted Belle, made him feel every inch the monster. Not only had he thrown her out, but because of that she had been forced to spend countless years trapped in a cell. And now she was alone, no doubt terrified, with nobody there to protect her.

"Why are you bringing me here?" He asked Jefferson as they climbed the steps. He found it was easier if he kept talking. Easier to keep the guilt at bay.

"Oh, I don't know. Let's say I'm a fan of true love."

That struck too close to home, too close to words said to a prince in a time forgotten by all save three. "And the real reason?"

"If I do this, you owe me. I figure the end of the world is a good time for someone to owe you a favour."

"I don't have magic in this new world, you know."

"And won't till a certain saviour arrives, I know, I know." Jefferson was fidgeting with his weapon, the blades sliding over one another. "But shhh," he raised a finger to his lips, "We have to be quiet. They react to sound."

Inside, the power was off. He followed Jefferson through dark corridors that would once have been clean and sterile but were now littered with blood and bodies. They made it through two rooms before they met a living person.

She had once been a nurse. Now Rumpelstiltskin wasn't sure what to call her. She was holding a scalpel in her left hand, slashing at the air with it as she stumbled along. Every few steps she alternated and slashed at herself, tearing her scrubs and skin beneath it.

"Don't shoot." Jefferson whispered.

Rumpelstiltskin watched as he slunk forwards behind the mad-woman and tore open her throat like he had Robin Hood's. Clearly, the end of the world was a good time to be savvy with a pair of shears.

When they headed downstairs he felt the bile begin to rise in his throat. What if they were too late? What if one of the recently-insane had gotten to her already? He wasn't sure what he'd do. To hear she had died once had been unbearable. To see her dead and know it was forever, after being a breath away from a second chance, was unthinkable.

"_Rast."_

That sound again. He wondered if it meant anything or if it was just the noise all humans made when stripped back to their violent instincts. It was a woman making the sound, along with a wet 'thunk' as she repeatedly hit her head against the desk. When they stopped in front of her she lifted her head, bared broken teeth below a shattered nose and hissed.

"_Rast, rast!"_

Jefferson drove a blade through her throat and black blood erupted over them. So much blood. He thought back to the days where, if cut, he could wipe a hand over the wound and heal it. Not so now. If Jefferson decided to take a blade to his throat there would be nothing he could do other than die. Would that work? Or would it have to be _the _blade, the one bearing his name? He wasn't sure and was certainly in no hurry to find out.

Once the nurse was dead, Jefferson leant over and fished a set of keys from her pocket. "Poor unfortunate soul." Jefferson muttered with mock sympathy as he walked away.

It was even darker down there, though Rumpelstiltskin wasn't sure why that surprised him. There were no windows and the power was out- what had he been expecting? He just hoped Belle had a basement window so she at least had some light in her room.

It occurred to him, once he had been following Jefferson for a few minutes, that it could all so easily be a lie. How would Jefferson know Belle was down here? What if he was just leading him down into the dark to kill him?

They stepped over a body of a man with unruly long hair and Rumpelstiltskin was reminded of the state of the world. Jefferson wouldn't need to lead him down into the dark to kill him, he could do it in the streets and a few mentally deranged citizens would probably join him.

"Here we are." Jefferson began rifling through the keys, trying to work out which one fit the lock.

"How exactly do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Why would I lie?" Jefferson grinned, but at the cold look he received in reply the humour dropped. "Fine, fine. You'll see I'm telling the truth when I get this door open."

"How did you know she was down here?"

"I keep tabs on Regina. Figured eventually I'd find something I could use against her one day. And lo and behold, I found it."

"And you didn't think to tell me?" He was gripping his cane so hard his knuckles were straining white.

"The…" Jefferson waved his hands about, searching for the phrase, keys and blades glinting in the minimal light, "timing! That's the word I was looking for. The timing wasn't right."

The thought of Jefferson keeping silent about it because of timing made Rumpelstiltskin want to shoot him there and then. "You knew she was locked up in here an-"

He cut off as the door opened and a metal tray collided with Jefferson's face.

"You get away from me!"

He couldn't breathe. It was Belle. Bedraggled with matted hair and a hospital gown that was sticking to her skin, but whole and real and _alive. _

"We're not going to hurt you, darling." He whispered, unable to stop himself from using the endearment. She was alive. Frowning at him as though she did not know him- which she didn't, not here, not with the curse still in place- but alive to frown at him which was more than he had ever dared to have hoped for.

"Speak for yourself." Jefferson said, clutching at his face. "I think she broke my nose."

Belle hugged the metal tray to her chest and eyed them both warily. "If you're not here to hurt me, then why are you here?"

"An excruciating long story." Jefferson dropped his hands away from his nose and winced. "One we can explain on the way out of this delectable little pit."

Belle frowned at them both. "And why should I trust you two?"

A million different answers flittered through his head. "Because you can't stay here." He settled on eventually. Partly because it was true and partly because it was the only one that would make sense to her.

She glanced back at the cell behind her. A room with a slab for a bed and tiny windows. Well, at least she had windows. He had to focus on that or he was going to go and find Regina, see if the insane folk had finished her off and do the honours if they hadn't. "Alright." Belle looked at him and nodded. "I will go with you." And that was too much, too close to the princess she had once been and it broke his heart.

"Good." He whispered, unable to stop himself as he reached out to take her arm.

Just as his fingers brushed over the bare skin of her wrist, they heard the sound echo down the hall. Shuffling footsteps, lots of them. Clearly a sizeable group were heading in their direction. Along with the shuffling they could hear grunting. An occasional hiss of, "_Rast._" More shuffling. A groan of pain and a sick, crunching wet sound as one of the mindless drones no doubt lashed out at another.

"Perfect." Jefferson said quietly. "That's just absolutely perfect."


	2. Chapter 2

Two

Rumpelstiltskin was a coward. Thirty years in a paper town and countless years in a cell beforehand had given him plenty of time to reflect on his shortcomings. He saw trouble and he ran. If he couldn't run he used words to wriggle his way out. He hid behind words, behind deals and most of all he hid behind magic.

But faced with murderous lunatics he couldn't imagine how words or deals might help him. And with no magic to hand it left him only one other option: run.

"Is there a way out back there?" He whispered, nodding his head down the dark corridor.

Belle shook her head, "There's only bathrooms."

There was nowhere to run either. He tasted bile at the back of his throat, threatening to surface. The shuffling footsteps were moving closer.

"Get in the room." Jefferson grabbed his arm and pulled him into the cell.

"What?" The panic was gnawing at his innards. _Trapped. _He had hoped never to be trapped again. Regina had promised. A life of luxury. Not cells and darkness and only his own black thoughts for company, not again.

"Be quiet." Jefferson shut the door and pressed his head against it. He seemed to be listening to the group in the corridor.

Rumpelstiltskin had visions of Jefferson being torn apart as the door was shoved open. But nothing happened. Silence stretched around them. He was barely breathing. The silence seemed thick, practically tangible. It was _too _quiet and he had to wonder how you could stay in such a room for so long and not go mad.

That maybe was the point. He glanced at Belle, who was biting her lower lip and hugging the tray to her chest. The girl who wanted to see the world, to have adventures, trapped in the silence. The thought turned his fear to guilt and loathing. Regina had trapped her down there but had he not cast her out it would not have been possible. He would blame Regina- but he could not pretend to be blameless.

"Alright," Jefferson glanced over his shoulder at them both, "We can go. I'll open the door and we run back the way we came. Hopefully they won't come after us."

Hopefully? They were basing their lives on a hopeful idea? Rumpelstiltskin had never been one for being hopeful. The coward in him made him see the worst of every situation.

But it was too late to argue. And besides, what other option did he have? It was go with Jefferson's idea or stay trapped.

The door was open. Jefferson went first and Rumpelstiltskin indicated for Belle to follow. At least that way, if the lunatics did follow, he could stall them. He would not be able to outrun them with his leg as it was, but he could hold them up. Those few seconds might make all the difference.

He had never been one for self-sacrifice. Rumpelstiltskin was the villain, he knew that. He had no place doing heroic things. No place saving the princess from the tower. But for Belle he would defy the conventions etched into even his name as the Dark One. For Belle he would pluck the moon from the sky if he thought it might make her smile.

The lunatics had passed the room. Rumpelstiltskin could still hear them, continuing on through the dark corridors. Grunting and hissing, tearing at one another every few steps. He wondered who was in that group- who within that group he might have made deals with in this world and the one before it.

Only when he felt Belle tug at his sleeve did he realise he had stopped.

They continued on through the dark. When they reached the desk he saw the nurse was on the floor, flesh torn from her face in strips. Belle gasped and, without thinking, he reached out to place a hand on her shoulder. He half expected her to recoil from the touch. But she surprised him by smiling at him timidly over her shoulder. Her smiles had always surprised him. Like the sun rising, like curtains being torn down to flood a gloomy room with light.

He still couldn't believe she was alive. But with his palm resting against her shoulder, feeling the heat radiating through the thin gown, how could he deny it? She had no idea who he was- but perhaps that was for the best. The end of the world was not the time to try and work out emotional entanglements.

"Where are we going to go once we get out of here?" Belle asked the question that had not even occurred to him. His only goal was to find out if Jefferson was telling the truth. Now he knew he had been, where did that leave him?

"I have to find my daughter. I know her family don't own cell phones b-"

Jefferson reached the top of the stairs and was tackled to the floor. Belle stumbled backwards in surprise and almost caused Rumpelstiltskin to fall. He staggered against the wall of the stairwell, grabbed her hip to steady her, and propelled himself forwards to see what had happened.

"Now Doctor, it's horrendously rude to interrupt someone mid-sentence! Or is it different where you come from?" Jefferson said from beneath the body that had him pinned to the floor.

Rumpelstiltskin wasn't sure what he had expected. Perhaps for the lunatic who had tackled Jefferson- Dr Whale with chunks missing from his scalp and his right arm hanging at a strange angle- to have done serious damage. Or for Jefferson to be afraid, at least.

But he was laughing as he sank the shears into the side of the doctor's face, a strange choked sort of laughter that seemed as though it were involuntary. Blood spurted out of the man once known as Frankenstein's mouth and covered Jefferson's throat and chin. Still he laughed, that strange sound half cast between amusement and despair, and he kept repeating the motion of slicing the doctor's face to fleshy rags.

"Jefferson," Rumpelstiltskin placed his cane on Frankenstein's back and pushed, "I think that might just be enough."

"You're probably right." Jefferson was still laughing as he wiped at the blood covering his chin. "But as I was saying before I was so _rudely _interrupted, I need to find my daughter."

"Why would you rescue me before finding your own daughter?" Belle sounded horrified.

Rumpelstiltskin was inclined to agree- for a moment. Then he remembered a promise made and broken to a son long gone and kept quiet. He had no room to lecture anyone on the finer details of parenting.

"If she stays in the house she'll be safe." Jefferson sat up and pointed the shears at Belle. "And saving you was a valuable move. One that means I'm owed more than just a simple favour." His gaze, harsh and assessing despite the instability he'd displayed only a moment ago, fixed on Rumpelstiltskin.

"Don't worry. I understand. A debt is owed." There were few things that made him as uncomfortable as being in someone's debt. He had always worked to be the debt-holder. To be the one who held the cards and had the power to hold out his hand and demand a repayment. But, for Belle, he could swallow his discomfort. He owed her that much, at least.

"Then let's get moving."

Despite the fact it was the end of the world, it all seemed so oddly silent. There were more bodies littering the floor than there had been before but that was the only change.

"So are we going to rescues your daughter?" Belle asked, clearly still determined to know where she was going. Rumpelstiltskin had to admire that. She had been locked up for twenty seven years and still managed to be the most level headed person in the group.

Jefferson turned to watch her, "Rescue," he laughed again, the strange chuckle that seemed to force its way out of him involuntary, "I _like _that."

Belle hugged the metal tray closer to her chest and slowed down, suddenly uneasy. "Isn't that what we're doing?"

"Well, I suppose." Jefferson nodded, the sound accompanied by the clinking of the shears as he pushed the blades open and closed.

Rumpelstiltskin wondered how he had managed to miss the obvious for so long. Of course. Jefferson was mad- had perhaps always been- but there was something different to it now. A deeper sadness beneath the bright eyed hysterics. A pain that madness could feed off- a pain madness had no doubt fed off where Jefferson was concerned.

The whole point of the curse had been to inflict pain. Rumpelstiltskin had not cared because he believed he had nothing left. Only Bae, lost in the world he would someday be free to search. But Jefferson's daughter was clearly alive and torn from him. Which had to mean she had other parents, new parents, ones she would know and trust. Jefferson would be a stranger wielding a weapon now, nothing more.

He tried to imagine Bae not knowing him. With Belle it was easier since there had been a time she had not known him, before her life was a dark castle and its darker occupant. But Bae was his son, his flesh, his blood. For his son to not know him would be the worst curse imaginable.

And he wondered what Jefferson had done to make Regina hate him so. There had been the 'resurrection' of her precious stable boy, of course, but that was long ago. And Frankenstein had been involved in that affair too- more directly than Jefferson it could be argued- and the curse had not touched him half so harshly.

"Come," Rumpelstiltskin said when it became evident Jefferson was not going to elaborate, "This place is not safe."

Not that the world outside the hospital was any better. Belle followed Jefferson out the door and Rumpelstiltskin watched her duck her head, desperately try to shield her face.

"It's so bright." She whispered. Despite the look of discomfort that contorted her features, it was clear she was not complaining. She sounded in awe. For a simple thing like afternoon sunlight to amaze her made the guilt twist his gut. She had not seen true sunlight for twenty seven years because of him.

He stopped in the doorway, giving her a moment to adjust. He noticed her knuckles were white from gripping the tray so hard. They needed to find her a better weapon and soon. They could not keep relying on Jefferson to cut people open, no matter how quickly he acted to do so.

Her eyes opened. He watched her as she surveyed the street, the overturned cars and dead bodies and smoke rising in the distance.

"What caused this?" She whispered.

It occurred to Rumpelstiltskin that he still had no idea. Regina had known nothing of use- but wait. Before Frankenstein had attacked, had Jefferson not said something about cell phones?

"Jefferson." He called to the man pacing at the bottom of the steps. "What did you say before, about cell phones?"

Jefferson huffed out a breath, turned to look at them as though he had just remembered they were there. "Cell phones…Yes. It happened at seven. People who were using their cell phones went mad."

Belle glanced up at him. Her eyes were wide and disbelieving and he did not blame her. He could hardly believe it himself. "And it turned them insane?"

"Yes. And then, of course, people started panicking and so they got out their cell phones to call loved ones to make sure they were okay." Another sob of laughter burst out of him.

Had Rumpelstiltskin not seen true madness with his own eyes, he would have called Jefferson a mad man and been done with it. But madness was all around them and it was not Jefferson. It had touched him, no doubt, a part of him streaked and smeared in a way that had left him sharp to the touch and unpredictable.

But Rumpelstiltskin knew how it was to be that way. He had felt parts of him slip away to the magic of being the Dark One, to the endless hours in the cell beneath the castle scrawling the name of their salvation a thousand times over, to the visions of the future and the visions of what he'd lost. Manifestations of things he had not seen. A once beautiful girl whipped and bloodied hurling herself from a tower. The crack of her bones, the blood on the cobbles. A grave he had never been able to find.

Oh yes, Rumpelstiltskin had stared madness in the face and knew what it was to look upon. He knew the scent of it. And while Jefferson was undoubtedly marred by it, he was not mad. Not completely. And for the time being, that was enough.

"So no using the phones then. Right." He thought of the impulse to call Regina he'd had that morning and was thankful he had not acted upon it.

"Where does your daughter live?" Belle passed Jefferson and glanced up and down the street. It seemed empty. But that could be deceptive.

"I know the way. If you two want to come, we should walk. Who knows how many of them still have cars." Jefferson snapped the blades of his shears together and began to walk.

Rumpelstiltskin saw no option but to follow.

The house had probably once been lovely. A family home with a picket fence, little rows of flowers around the outskirts of the garden and a tree with a swing dangling from a strong branch. Now the front window was shattered, a streak of red smeared across the blue door. It was a house defiled.

Jefferson screamed when he saw the state of the building. It was a sound like a wounded animal, a raw guttural groan. He started running before either of them could restrain him.

"Grace!" He screamed as he threw the front door open.

Belle ran after him.

"Belle, don't!" Rumpelstiltskin followed her. How could he not? Even with his limp, his lack of magic, she was Belle and he was helpless to do anything but follow.

The stairs were directly opposite the front door. A woman was sprawled half way up, a knife jutting out of her back and her green jumper streaked black with blood. She'd been wearing little black slip on pumps, one of them was dangling from her left foot and the other was at the bottom of the stairs. For some reason it was the image of that shoe clinging to her foot that stuck in his mind, not the knife or the blood.

A scream from further into the house led them away from the door.

Jefferson was in the kitchen with another lunatic. It was a man who had probably once been perfectly nice and respectable but had been ruined by insanity, his shirt torn to ribbons with blood and spittle smeared across his chin. He was brandishing a knife, similar to the one that had been sticking out of the woman's back. A matching kitchen set, how homely.

"Where's Grace!" Jefferson screamed as his shears cut at the man's arm.

"_Rast." _Was the reply.

Rumpelstiltskin grabbed Belle's arm and pulled her away from the kitchen. She only had a tray and even Jefferson seemed to be struggling. If he came at her…No. Rumpelstiltskin removed his gun from his pocket. Clicked the safety off- when had he put it on? The memory evaded him, something most likely done by instinct.

He advanced into the kitchen, cane hooked over his arm, both hands clutching the gun. Each step was an effort, his knee used to the mild relief the cane provided, but now it was not important.

"Move." He whispered to Jefferson.

Rumpelstiltskin half expected him not to react. He seemed engrossed in screaming at the man, demanding to know where his daughter was. But he did react. He side stepped and the man charged for the next available target.

The gunshot seemed impossibly loud in the stillness of the house. It made his ears ring. His finger throbbed around the trigger. The bullet hit the man beneath his right eye. An imperfect shot that made him stumble to the ground. But he was not dead.

Rumpelstiltskin fired again. He caught him in the forehead that time and the man flopped forwards onto his front.

Another shot.

Dead.

Another shot just to be sure.

"Belle," he pocked the gun and leant against the wall heavily, "Take the knife. It's better than a tray."

She hesitated. Jefferson was already running from the room, back towards the front door. There was an upstairs to search too. Rumpelstiltskin closed his eyes. He dreaded to think what they might find up there.

"Are you alright?"

He opened his eyes. Belle was standing beside him, holding the knife with the blade pointed down.

"I'm fine," he said though fine seemed like a far off dream, "How are you holding up?"

She pursed her lips, obviously thinking, and leant against the wall opposite him. "I'm not sure. It's nice to be out of that cell, but when I dreamed about leaving this isn't how I imagined it would be."

"No, I can imagine not."

"It probably sounds silly. But you know what I imagined?" She wasn't looking at him, instead at her hands gripping the handle of the knife. "I imagined my father would come to get me. He'd take me all round the town and show me what had changed since I was a little girl. He'd have made up my room with fresh pillows and blankets but I would still need to redecorate because it was a child's room." She sniffed, though she wasn't crying. He could see she was close though.

"Do you want to go and find your father after this?" He asked, unsure what else to say. It made his heart ache to know how she had dreamed of escaping that cruel cell. But she was not his to comfort- she never had been, not really.

"I…" She glanced up at him and bit her lip. "I'm not sure. He hasn't been to visit me ever since I got put away. But he _is _still my father. I should go, shouldn't I?"

"You don't have to do anything, darling."

Unlike before, the pet name caught her attention. "Why do you call me that? I don't know you…Do I?" She looked stricken, as though believing her mind had betrayed into forgetting someone.

"No, no you don't. I'm…Your father owes me money. Over the years I've been in his shop and home to collect rent and I saw the pictures he had up." A lie, but only in part. Moe French _did _owe him money, and he had been to collect the rent. But there had been no pictures. "He mentioned you to me once."

"So you decided to come and rescue me? Don't you have family you should be rushing to rescue?"

"No. Just me." A thump echoed from upstairs. "And Jefferson, I suppose."

"Jefferson." She said the name to herself quietly, as though committing it to memory. "What's your name? You rescued me and I don't even know your name!"

"Most people just know me as Mr Gold."

"Mr Gold." She repeated the process of muttering the name quietly to herself. "I'm Belle. But I suppose you already know that."

He nodded. From upstairs came another thump, a scream.

"We should go up there." Belle said, though she didn't sound like she wanted to.

"We should." He agreed, sounding just as eager.

Jefferson saved them the trouble. He came running down the stairs and when he appeared in the kitchen he was clutching a little girl to his chest. She turned to stare at them with tear stained, but sane, eyes.

"Where are my parents?" She asked, unable to see the body on the floor from her position.

Jefferson placed a hand on the back of her head and gently pressed her face against his shoulder. "I told you," he sounded gentle when he spoke, nothing like the man who had cut open numerous people that day, "I'm taking you to them. Just close your eyes and wait till we get outside." He nodded at them and left the room.

Rumpelstiltskin checked the bullets in his gun. He'd need to get more soon or it would useless to him. Perhaps he should take a knife in case that happened before they could get more. He took two knives from the rack, figuring it couldn't hurt to be prepared. Belle waited till he was done to follow him towards the front door.

"He isn't really her father, is he?" She asked as they walked. "She didn't seem to know him."

Though lying to her felt worse the more he did it, he saw no other option. It was not the time for the full truth. "He's her birth father. She doesn't know him because she was adopted." Like before it was the truth wrapped in a lie.

"Oh." Belle made a thoughtful humming sound. He wanted to ask her what she was thinking about, but perhaps later. They were outside by that point, standing on the doormat with Jefferson hugging his daughter on the grass lawn.

"I live on the very edge of town." Jefferson had his face pressed against Paige's shoulder. "We should go there. We'll be safer than staying in the centre."

Being reunited with his daughter, who was squirming against his tight embrace, seemed to have regained a sense of balance to him. Gone was the mad man with the shears. In his place was a concerned father who just happened to be wearing more blood than cloth.

"We can't go to your house. You promised to take me to my mama and papa." Paige protested.

The silence was thick. Jefferson had no time to formulate a lie before the child registered the truth. Her lips puckered. The tears that were already pouring down her cheeks seemed to quicken in their haste to escape her eyes. "No!" She sobbed and writhed, attempting to break free of Jefferson's embrace.

He held her tight. A sensible notion, Rumpelstiltskin admitted. A person in distress could do foolish things. Paige- who must have been called Grace in the old world since that was what Jefferson had called her before- screamed as grief racked her body. Her father seemed to just be trying to hold on to her.

"Come here." Belle walked towards the pair and held her arms out.

Jefferson hesitated, clearly unwilling. But Paige was straining against him, her body wracked by sobs, and eventually he succumbed to the fact he had no other option. His daughter did not want his comfort.

So he let her go. Rumpelstiltskin half expected her to make for the house, he prepared to close the door behind him. But she ran to Belle.

Belle sat down on the lawn and let the child huddle on her lap. She let the girl cry into her curls, all the while just rocking her and whispering sweet nothings. Even in a world where she had been cut off from everyone for most of her life, she was still the kindest woman in the world.

Eventually, Paige quietened. Her sobs became rasped hiccups of despair, but she had cried herself out for the time being. Later, Rumpelstiltskin knew, the grief would hit her again. But they had time till then.

"We need to get going now, Paige." Belle said, loud enough for the men stood awkwardly beside her to hear. "Do you think you can walk, or would you like someone to carry you?"

"Carry." The response was sullen, but still a response. She had not retreated into herself completely. That was good, that showed promise.

"Then we can carry you," Belle nodded, her voice soft and gentle. A soothing voice, one for children and those in distress, "But I'm not strong enough and Mr Gold has his cane. Is it okay if Jefferson carries you? He'll keep you safe, I promise." Belle had never been one to make idle promises. Rumpelstiltskin wondered what that meant, if she truly trusted Jefferson completely or just that he would protect Paige.

Paige raised her head from Belle's neck. She looked at Jefferson, who was staring at the floor and doing an excellent impression of a balloon with all the air drawn from it, and nodded. "Okay."

Jefferson came back to life at that. His back straightened, he slipped the shears through the loop of his belt and picked his daughter up. She clung to him. Her cheeks were drawn, eyes red and puffy from tears. She was alive and sane though, more than most could say.

Belle struggled to her feet, eyes focused on the pair rather than the carnage around them. Her brow was furrowed, obviously thinking hard. "I need to go and find my father."

"I'll go with you." Rumpelstiltskin said as an automatic reaction. How could he not? He couldn't just let her walk off into the end of the world alone, armed only with one kitchen knife!

"We can all go." Jefferson said, his eyes glassy and everyone pretending not to notice. "He lives above the flower shop, right?"

"Correct." Rumpelstiltskin nodded. The shop and flat he owned, that Moe French paid him rent on once a month. Or was supposed to anyway.

"That's not far." For a man who had never been seen in town, Jefferson seemed to know an awful lot about the town's layout.

"Then we should go." Belle nodded. The thought of finding her father did not seem to please her so much as fill her with a fierce sort of determination. She had a purpose now and that purpose could keep her going.

Rumpelstiltskin was not one for hoping, but he did then. He hoped that Moe French was alive. More than anything, he hoped he had not used a cell phone.

**A/N: Thank you to all who have already reviewed/followed this story! I hope you enjoyed chapter two, I hope to have chapter three up sometime in the week :)**


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